


The Paris Job

by steampunkmagic



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Paris (City), Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steampunkmagic/pseuds/steampunkmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a routine assignment goes sideways Milt and Russ find themselves stranded in Paris with their enemies closing in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> What is it with these two?  
> I got the idea for this fic in my head and I just had to write it. Mostly because of the [Milt/Russ Fanmix](https://8tracks.com/astracharlie/99-problems) I made that included the track 'Secret Agent Man'...  
> And yes this will be a multi-chapter fic
> 
> Enjoy :D

**The Paris Job**

**_Part 1:  The Exchange_ **

****

                "How's the party, pretty boy?" Came Russ' sarcastic voice through the com in Agent Chamberlain's ear.

 

                Milt glanced around the opulent hotel ballroom filled with men in tuxedos and women in silk.   Every inch of the place screamed money, blood diamonds, and private islands in the Bahamas.  Conversation flowed around him in English, French, and Italian, as the Parisian Elite wined and dined in the name of charity. 

 

                "The hors d'oeuvres are over done."  Milt replied trying not to move his mouth too much.  Few things look more suspicious than talking to one's self.  

 

                "I'm devastated by your suffering."  Russ drawled.  He was still pissed he had to get into the hotel's basement via the city's sewer system to steal the video feeds earlier. 

 

                Milt hid a laugh behind a cough, smiling politely at the beautiful debutant passing by.  She batted her eyelashes, while her much older date glared at him before leading the girl away.   

 

                Russ was the guy they sent in to hit people.  Milt was the guy they sent in to charm people.  This basically meant Russ ended up sulking in alleys and basements, while Milt wore a tuxedo and flirted with beautiful women.  Needless to say that grated after awhile. 

 

                Milt thought his partner would look good in a tux.  He would certainly liven up what had to be Paris' dullest black tie event of the year.  The orchestra was going to put him to sleep before his contact ever showed up. 

 

                He scanned the room again, talking another sip of champagne.   Tonight he was shady billionaire, Mr. Daniel Bluestone, who had ties to the Chinese government and was looking to buy American State Secrets.    Not the most original of Legends but Holly and Jacocks, the Agency's resident tech geniuses, had made it a solid trap.   Now all Milt needed was the seller.

 

                "I've got him."  Russ said from the van where he had all the camera feeds running.  "Creepy German dude in the creepy white tux, at your 6 o'clock.

 

                Milt turned and spotted a man sporting a red pin on his lapel.  The pin matched the one Milt himself was wearing as an identifier.   The man had powdery white skin, white hair, and a large beak like nose.   He had to agree with his partner 'creepy' was a pretty apt description.  The man could have been young or old, there was something oddly ageless about in appearance.  Milt did not like it. 

 

                "I see him."

 

                "I wonder if he was born that way or if he decided to groom himself for the part."  Russ said wryly.   The smirk was clear in his voice.

 

                "Shut up."  Milt snapped before his partner could completely distract him.  Russ had somehow developed the ability to stop terrorist attacks while simultaneously trying to drive him insane. 

 

                He took a breath in and out, and slipped into his character.  Milt's smile widened, turning harsher, less pleasant, and his shoulders drew back, making him appear arrogant and proud.  He became another person entirely.    It was this talent which drew him into the Agency - or more accurately drew the Agency to him - over six years ago.  Personalities flowed over him like water and Milt could become anyone in a matter of seconds. 

 

                Now he was a rich, playboy, sociopath who cared for money far more than human life.  And with a threatening, yet alluring grin he moved forward to greet his target.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                Russ watched the exchange go down from the van.   Mini screens, buttons, and wires surrounded him in a tangled mess of new fangled technology, which probably cost a fortune.  For his part though, Russ did his best to ignore the gadgetry whenever possible.  He liked dealing with things in a far more practical way: you see the bad guy and you shoot the bad guy.  Or hit him in face as the case may be.   Simple and effective. 

 

                That was also why he never got to schmooze rich idiots at fancy parties.  That _and_ Milt looked a lot better in black tie than he did. 

 

                This evening was no exception on that front; Russ had to admit his partner's villainous persona was quite something.  All sex appeal and understated violence.   Mr. Bluestone was one of Milt's more commonly used Legends, since billionaires came in handy in all sorts of situations.   It was one of the few things Russ didn't complain about. 

 

                Their current assignment on the other hand…  He had been stuck in the van for the last four hours and Russ was bored out of his mind.  This whole thing was about as run of the mill as things could get in their line of work.   Other than obnoxiously long plane rides, spy movies always seemed to forget about that part.

 

                Whatever important, classified secrets were on that encrypted USB, Milt was paying 10 million for, Russ would never see them.  So that made this nothing more than an exchange of a bank routing number for a briefcase -  just in a fancy ass location. 

 

                Same old, same old.

 

                On the crappy CCTV screen Milt got possession of the silver briefcase from one of the German's bodyguards.   Taking it, he toasted his business partner with a raised glass and a cheeky wink.   Then he made his exit. 

 

                "That took long enough."  Russ said marking his partner's progress out of the hotel.  "What, were you trying to get the guy's number or something?"

 

                He could not see it but he knew Milt was rolling his eyes.  "Stop being belligerent and start the van.  We've got less than 45 minutes to get this to the drop point."

 

                Russ grinned and checked the coast was clear before hoping out of the back of the vehicle and moving around to the front driver's side.  "Then we can go home where there's _real_ food."

 

                "France has real food."  He could hear the reproach in Milt's tone even through the com.

 

                "No.  It doesn't."  Russ started the engine as he spotted his partner exiting the building across the street.  "I want real American pizza."

 

                "Fine." Milt said once he slid into the passenger seat.  "Pizza, first thing when we touch down back in New York."

 

                "Deal."  Russ pulled out into traffic, silently congratulating them on how well their plan had worked out. 

 

                It was after that when everything went to shit.


	2. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> which includes murder and motel rooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you and wow I'm such a sap...

**_Part 2: The Chase_ **

 

                Their drop point was below a bridge along the Sine, which Milt felt was unnecessarily cloak and dagger.  A café would have worked just as well to hand over the USB, but he did not make the protocols, he simply followed them.  Such promotions could be in the near future though...

 

                Milt surreptitiously glanced at the man sitting next to him, his features profiled by the light coming in the driver's side window.  Russ would be given a new partner if he was promoted.  Some yet unnamed man or woman would simply take his place beside him.  Milt wondered how Russ would handle that.

 

                Russ deflected emotions with hostility and he pretended to be slower than he actually was so that people would underestimate him, even those they worked with.  Russ had a carefully crafted exterior that had taken Milt ages to see through and he worried some other partner would never take the time to do the same. 

 

                "Something's wrong."  His partner interrupted his troubling thoughts and hit the brakes.  

 

                Milt looked out the windshield, eyes scanning for whatever had alerted Russ.  It was not hard to spot.  A dark, midsized sedan was parked at an angle on the side of the road beside the walkway leading down below the bridge.  The driver's door was hanging open.

 

                "Shit."  Milt breathed.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end with some kind of dreaded sixth sense.  They had been compromised; he knew it in his gut.  "Keep going but slowly."

 

                Russ merely nodded, already putting the van into gear.  They both had their weapons drawn as they rolled passed the other car.  Milt leaned forward to see inside, tensed for an ambush. 

               

                Bromberg still sat upright in the front seat with a .38 special sized hole through the center of his forehead.  He looked eerily ghost like under the harsh beam of their headlights.   Milt was thankful he could not see the back of the man's head from this angle since the back of his skull had probably been blown out by the exit wound.   From here, if it was not for all the blood, he might have been sleeping.

 

                "We need to call-"

 

                The spray of bullets across the front of the van cut off Russ' next words.  Sparks flew up in all directions as metal struck metal.  Semi automatic fire from somewhere above them.  Milt squinted at the buildings yet he could not see in the darkness. 

 

                "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." 

 

                Russ slammed the car into reverse, expertly shifting gears like a NASCAR driver as he spun them around.  The tires screamed in protest.  A ricochet cracked the windshield.   Milt clung to the door still trying to find someone to shoot at.  It was too dark and they were moving too fast.    None of this made any sense, this was a routine assignment. 

 

                How did someone find the drop location?

 

                "Are you okay?"  Milt half yelled, while the van jumped a street divider to get the out of range.

 

                Russ did not answer.  He was too busy dodging trash bins which Milt took as a good sign. 

 

                "We've got company."  Russ spit out with a glance at the rearview mirror.

 

                An SUV swung out of the alley behind them, matching their current pulse pounding speed.  Milt rolled down his window and leaned out to aim at the other vehicle's tires.  A bullet whizzed past his right ear as the passenger behind him had the same idea. 

 

                Milt focused his aim and fired on the engine just a Russ took a sharp left turn, which nearly threw him from the van.   His abdomen pressed painfully against the window frame fighting momentum.  Behind them the SUV swerved wildly and flipped over a meridian, crashing upside down in the middle of an intersection. 

 

                Russ did not slow down for a second. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                They found a cheap motel that took cash and ignored Interpol passport check in regulations, and decided to hold up for the night.  They needed to figure out how to reestablish contact with the Agency before they did anything.  They also did not dare return to their previous hotel knowing it was likely compromised as well.  Their clothes would just have to be replaced. 

 

                The room was old yet shockingly clean which was nice.  Russ had slept in some pretty god awful places over the years, but that didn't mean he wanted to.  There was a full sized bed with a drab floral comforter, a chipped dresser, and a TV circa 1996.  Not bad overall.

 

                Russ dropped his duffle bag, which he kept with him at all times, on the floor and turned to face Milt.  His partner was still in his stupid tuxedo, now wrinkled beyond reason, and his perfectly gelled hair was askew. 

 

                "What the hell happened?"  Russ said evenly. 

 

                Milt was one of the few people on the planet he trusted, but even so Russ' built in paranoia was taking over.  Only a member of their inner circle could have leaked the location of the drop.   His hands curled into fists.

 

                Milt frowned, carefully taking in his expression.  "I don't know.  Maybe we got hacked."

 

                "Hacked?  Really?  This is the Agency we're talking about."

 

                "Well, then Bromberg screwed up, someone did."  Milt took a step closer, his _oh so sincere_ eyes wide and reassuring. 

 

                Russ held up a finger.  "Don't play your Jedi mind game crap with me."

 

                His partner let out a tired sigh. "As if it would ever work on you anyway."

 

                "Oh and why is that?"

 

                Milt's eyes met his seriously and Russ felt a warmth curl in the bottom of his belly, a reminder of feelings he had be working to repress around Milt for ages. 

 

                "Because you are the only person who actually knows **_me_**."  Milt took another step closer until their chests were almost touching.  "And you know I would never betray you?"

 

                Russ deflated, feeling like a total ass.  "Yeah."

 

                Milt smiled, and then a flicker of uncertainty crossed his handsome features.  Russ' breath hitched in surprise as his partner surged forward to close the gap between them.  Milt sealed his mouth with his, slotting their lips together.  It only took Russ a moment to respond, pulling him roughly against his body and tasting what he had never dared to before. 

 

                He never could have imagined Milt could be interested in him.   He was the man who could have anyone and Russ was just the muscle.  

 

                They nearly floated backwards down on to the bed refusing to break contact.  The feeling of skin on skin was too intoxicating.   Milt's knees straddled his hips, his hands slid under the fabric of his shirt.  

 

                "Wait."  Russ managed to say, even though his body was screaming for him to shut the hell up. 

 

                The younger man pulled back, the first hints of the sting of rejection clear in his eyes. 

 

                Russ ran his thumb across Milt's cheek to sooth away such thoughts.  "Promise me this is not just some dumbass reaction to nearly dying.  Because I would be super pissed tomorrow if that were the case." 

 

                Milt laughed, shaking the bed with his mirth.  "God, you're such an idiot sometimes."

 

                Anything Russ had to say in response was cut short by a searing, lingering kiss and Milt whispered against his lips.  "I've always wanted you." 

 

                Russ grinned.  "In that case, Agent Chamberlain, you are wearing entirely too much clothing."


	3. The Bomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends!  
> Sorry I disappeared I have been running up and down the countryside this last week  
> (who knew being involved in multiple weddings simultaneously was a bad idea?) 
> 
> Only one more chapter and I think it will be up tonight or tomorrow

**_Part 3: The Bomb_ **

 

 

                Russ stared up at the dated popcorn ceiling, turning over the events of the last 24 hours in his mind.  He knew Milt, who was using him as a human pillow, was doing the same, if the furrow in his brow was any indication.  Russ' brain strove to find patterns in the chaos above him, just as it strove to discern patterns in the rest of this mess.

 

                And ho boy had things become one hell of a mess.  Bromberg, mysterious fucking assailants - Russians he'd wager by the style of SUVs, those guys seriously lacked subtlety -, and now this thing with Milt.

 

                There were some things you really never saw coming in life.  The last hour had certainly been one of those for Russ.  Also one of the better hours of his existence, since apparently Milt really did excel at everything he put his mind to.  But seriously _how_ _the hell_ did this happen?

 

                "You're thinking very loudly, you know."  Milt muttered softly.  The younger agent moved so he had his head propped up on an elbow, laying beside Russ on the tiny bed.

 

                He huffed in response, making his partner smile and lean in to kiss the crook of his neck.

 

                "Go to sleep."  Milt said.  "We can't do anything until dawn, it's too risky."

 

                Russ knew he was right even though he had never been much of a fan of inaction.  Despite that fact, at the moment it truly was their only option.  The Agency's listening station was halfway across the city and they had no idea how many men lay between here and there.  It was a tactical nightmare in the dark.  They could reach 'The Bakery' with much less chance of assault in a Paris morning crowded with tourists. 

 

                "I know."  Russ sighed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                Both men were up and dressed before dawn crept through the slats in the blinds.  Milt checked and rechecked their woefully small arsenal, even if he knew Russ was two feet away doing the same.  It never hurt to be overly cautious - something he clearly should have learned earlier.

 

                Milt _should_ have seen this disaster coming and somehow he _should_ have been able to stop it.  But he failed and, worse yet, he failed Russell.  

 

                Russ had deeply ingrained trust issues, which often made being the man's partner exceedingly challenging.  Milt once suggested Russ take up meditation and had given him a copy of the Tao Te Ching - Milt got a Longmire novel thrown at his head for the effort.   It was better than nothing. 

 

                He hated anything that pushed Russ further from the rest of the world - and him.  Though he thought he made it pretty clear last night he was not going anywhere.  Russ was his other half, his counterbalance, in every sense, and lord have mercy on anything or anyone that stood in their way. 

 

                Distracting his partner with a swift kiss, Milt pick pocketed the keys to the van.

 

                Russ sighed, the scent of sugary, mint toothpaste curling against Milt's mouth.  "Give them back."

 

                "No." He replied with a slight smile.  "I'll go out first, wait ten minutes then meet me."

 

                Russ gave him a level stare.  "It's my van."

 

                "It's the Agency's van."

 

                "I drive better."

 

                "Tell that to my bruises, Agent 'I Was Top Of My Class In Evasive Driving'." Milt shot back, now trying not to smile.  But it was true, he had one wicked bruise running across his abdomen from almost being thrown from the car last night.  "Why exactly are you making this a problem?"

 

                "Asshat."  Was Russ' only response.

 

                Milt twirled the keys around his finger cheekily and headed out the door.  "You know you love me."  He called back.

 

                The door swung shut on Russ' somewhat confused expression.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                Russ did not know precisely why letting Milt leave first was bothering him.  He knew it should not, it was a basic tactical maneuver.  One he would have insisted upon if it were him as well.  Yet…

 

                An unnamable fear was churning deep in his belly.  The expression 'somebody walked over your grave' came to mind as Russ checked his watch for the umpteenth time.  Four minutes left.  He paced back and forth, his eyes unconsciously flickering to the still rumpled sheets of the bed.

 

                Some inherent, yet untapped, piece of his soul demanded Russ leave this room, grab Milt, and run.  Run to where no one would ever find them.  To find some little dusty town far from cartels, far from the Agency, and far from this life.  He could own a hardware store and Milt could take up some ridiculous hobby like knitting or gardening.

 

                It would be perfect.

 

                Russ pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.  He knew the truth.  The only way out of this life was in a body bag. 

 

                His grim thoughts were shattered by the sonic boom of an explosion ripping down the block.  Russ stumbled sideways, heart pounding in his chest.  The blinds fell from the window, one of the lamps crashed to the floor, but he managed to stay upright.

 

                "Milt." He choked out breathlessly.

 

                The street was in chaos.  People were screaming, children were crying.  Store windows had been shattered by the force of the blast.  And in the center of it all was the scorched remains of one ugly utility van.

 

                Russ felt his world fall apart around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no...


	4. The Warehouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet connection at last!! 
> 
> Last chapter, thanks for sticking with me guys it means a lot :)
> 
> [warning: homophobic slurs are used by one asshole in this chapter]

**_Part 4: The Warehouse_ **

 

                Milt opened his eyes and immediately regretted it.  The world tilted a drastic 90 degrees, making him wish he had something in his stomach to throw up.  Hors d'oeuvres were a hell of a long time ago.  But just how long exactly?  Where was he?  Where was _Russ_?

 

                Everything was foggy and his ear drums rung like he had gone to the shooting range without plugs.  A headache pulsed behind his right eye only adding to his nausea.  This was not good.  Not good at all.

 

                Milt forced himself to focus and take stock of his current situation.  He was in a warehouse, which probably had not been used for any legal purposes in the last decade.  It had large scrapes and indentations along the concrete floor where it once housed some kind of heavy machinery, but now all there was were oil stains and parked black SUVs.  Three men were yelling at each other in Russian beside one of them.

 

                He was slouched in a metal chair with his wrists and ankles bound in plastic zip ties.  Milt was not going anywhere soon, at least until he got hold of some kind of weapon.  Though the chances of that looked slim at the present.

 

                The real question in all of this was: where was Russ?

 

                There was no sign of his partner anywhere in the warehouse.  Milt concentrated on rewinding his frazzled memory back to whatever the hell happened.  He was going to the van and then some kind of bomb had gone off - or something - it was all rather fuzzy.  That meant Russ should have still been in the motel, hopefully. 

 

                Milt took a steadying breath, remembering his mediation techniques.  He could not let himself imagine any alternatives other than Russ being safe.  Being alive.

 

                Now he had to get himself out of this mess.  Milt listened to the argument in Russian going on only a few yards away from him.  The three overly muscular men seemed to have completely forgotten his presence, either that or they had no clue he was conscious.   

 

                "Who says he won't bring the whole Agency down on us?"  A tall, lanky one with a skull print tee and leather jacket demanded hotly.

 

                "The boss does."  Hissed the shortest of the trio, who appeared to be their leader.  Perhaps it was because the guy had the thickest neck Milt had ever seen.  Really it was impressive. 

 

                Skull Print, however, did not look impressed, but he did not say anything further. 

 

                Milt did not have to wonder who 'the boss' was for long, as a fourth car pulled into the warehouse from the open garage bay.  A dark BMW Sedan, which despite its obvious price tag, Milt thought looked like something his grandmother would drive.    It parked beside the SUVs, the purr of the motor falling into silence.

 

                The door opened and the very last person Milt expected to see stepped out - Agent Bromberg.

 

                The other man smiled at his obvious confusion.  "Good to see you're finally awake, Chamberlain.  That was one hell of a knock to the head."

 

                "What have you done?"  Milt was disturbed to hear how slurred his voice sounded.

 

                "I grew a pair."  Bromberg came to stand in front of him, smug triumph in his eyes. 

 

                Bromberg was the traitor.  He had not screwed up, he was behind this whole thing.  But they saw him dead…

 

                Bromberg leaned down to slap his cheek sharply.  "Don't check out on me, you damn fag.  I don't care if you have a concussion, I need you awake."

 

                Milt glared at him, ignoring the personal dig.  "You'd really sell out your country for money?"

 

                The older man rolled his eyes. "My country?  The time for countries is finished, antiquated fuck."

 

                "There is really no need to keep insulting me."  Milt put in mildly.  "It won't change your position any."

 

                The Russians glanced at each other behind Bromberg's back.

 

                "That's just like you isn't it?  Acting all high and mighty while you're bound to a fucking chair."

 

                Milt cut to the chase, he was too exhausted for this.  "You've clearly already searched me and know I don't have the USB, so say what you want and get it over with."

 

                Bromberg's lips pressed into a white line with barely controlled rage.  Milt was taking his power away.  "We know Agnew has it.  And if you tell me where he is before I find him myself - I promise I won't kill him."

 

                So they did not have Russ.  Milt felt a crushing pressure lift from his chest.  The relief must have shown on his face - an indication of how tired he was - because Bromberg shot him a look of pure disgust.

 

                "This clearly must not be your first concussion if **_that's_** what gets your rocks off."  He said derisively.

 

                "I will not tell you where he is."  Milt proclaimed.  He sat up as straight as he could with the restraints, staring defiantly at the former agent.    

 

                Bromberg whipped a switch blade out from his jacket pocket and deftly jabbed it into the soft flesh of Milt's thigh.  Milt bit back a cry at the sudden intense pain, his mind forced more in focus than ever. 

 

                "Tell me where your partner is."  Bromberg twisted the knife slowly.  Red blood pooled against the silver of the blade.

 

                Three shots rang out in rapid succession and the three Russians were dropped to the concrete before either Milt or Bromberg had time to react.

 

                "I'm right here."  Russ said stepping out of the shadows, gun trained on the older man.

 

                Bromberg went for his weapon but Russ had already fired.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                Russ finally allowed his gaze to focus on Milt.  He looked beat to rat shit, but he was alive.  Russ felt his heart contract painfully in his chest as their eyes met.  Eyes he was sure he would never see again.

 

                "How'd you find me."  Milt grinned at Russ as he cut him free from the chair.

 

                It was really good to see that idiotic smile again.  "I put a tracker on you."

 

                Milt rubbed his chaffed wrists and carefully tried to stand, despite his bleeding leg.  Russ grabbed him immediately incase he stumbled, since he looked rather punch drunk. 

 

                "Why am I not surprised?"  Milt muttered then roughly yanked him into a kiss.

 

                Ignoring the bloody mess surrounding them, Russ kissed back with every fiber of his being.  He thought he had lost Milt today and he needed to remind himself this was real.  Milt was not a delusion or a dream, but warm, solid, and alive.    They were together.

 

                "Now let's get the hell out of here."  Russ reluctantly pulled back.  "A cleanup crew is about five minutes behind me and I'm sure [Guziewicz](http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0504092/?ref_=tt_cl_t6) is looking forward to yelling at me for going in solo."

 

                Milt turned his eyes past him to where Bromberg's body lay.  There was sadness rather than anger in his gaze. "She'd be right, you shouldn't have risked yourself for me."

 

                Russ stepped into his line of sight, forcing their eyes to meet.  "You're my partner, there's nothing I wouldn't risk for you."

 

                A smile slowly lit up Milt's handsome features and his grip on Russ tightened.  "I love you." He breathed out.

 

                "You've got a pretty nasty bump on the head."

 

                "No - well probably - but I mean it.  I love you, Russell.  I have for a long time."

 

 

 

 

 

**2 Years Later**

 

                Russ wandered into the kitchen of their new house to find his husband nearly covered in flour.  Oddly the orange and white checked apron tied around Milt's waist was completely clean.  His hair, face, and arms, on the other hand, were all dusted with white powder. 

 

                "What are you doing?"  He glanced around the mess of a kitchen to spot a cake cooling on a rack. 

 

                "You're home early."  Milt grinned.  "This was going to be a surprise…. Anyway…. Congratulations!"

 

                He laughed, receiving a cake batter flavored kiss, which lingered longer than probably necessary.  Not that Russ minded.  Damn Milt, he was too old to get mushy about things, but his husband's antics were hard to resist. 

 

                "Becoming a cop is not that spectacular of a feat all things considered."  Russ tried to wave him off.

 

                "They don't know that."

 

                "They still think I was a cop in Michigan before we moved here."  He countered.

 

                Milt made a face.  "Stop it, I'm proud of you."

 

                Russ took in the sight of his cake flour splattered husband, the former super agent, and just had to laugh at the ridiculousness of life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!

**Author's Note:**

> [Fanfiction Tumblr](http://steampunkmagic.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also working on a prompt I got for a Omegavese au which should be fun


End file.
